"If he dies, I shall not care much.
He is better dead." We laid him in the bottom of the boat and covered him with the mizzen sail.
"Keep well out round Bec du Nez," said Uncle George, "and run so for half an hour.

Then run due east for two hours, and then make for Jersey.

God keep you, my boy! It's a bitter duty, but you're doing the right thing." He wrung my hand, and pushed off and disappeared in the darkness, and we ran up the lug and went thrashing out into Great Russel.
We turned and ran before the west wind straight for the French coast, till the sun rose and the cliffs of Sercq, about twelve miles away, gleamed as though they had but just been made--or had newly risen out of the sea.

Then we turned to the south-west and made for Jersey.
As soon as it was light I saw Krok's eyes dwelling on our passenger with a very natural curiosity.

Torode was unknown to him as to most of us, but there was a whole world of enquiry in his face as he sat looking down on the unconscious face below--studying it, pondering it, catching, I thought, at times half glimpses of the past in it.
I saw that I must tell him a part of the truth, at all events, for I should need much help from him.